The Attic
by crazzyredhead
Summary: AU Can be read as sequel to jeevesandwooster's "Small Magics". When a five year old Harry finds Dumbledore's letter to the Dursleys in the attic, it starts a chain of events no one would expect. DH spoilers. Adoption. Abusive!Dursleys no slash grey!Albus


In the corner of the attic, where thin bars of sunlight creeped through the horizontal blinds of the single small window, a young boy huddled on the hard wooden floor. The attic had obviously not been cleaned in years. Dust coated every surface, and where it was disturbed by the small child's entrance it floated in the air, coating his messy black hair in grey powder and turning the tracks of tears on his face to muddy rivers as they coursed down his cheeks. His red rimmed eyes of startling green were obscured, to anyone who could have seen him, by grimy glasses with black, round frames, the left lens shattered. Peeking out from under the unruly hair, a thin scar the shape of lightning could be seen.

The boys name was Harry Potter, though he'd only learned this recently, and he was five years old. He was hiding in the attic because he had broken his glasses again and he was terrified of how his Uncle would react. He knew that he had to show them to his Uncle eventually, but still he remained hidden away. The punishment for being ingrateful for the glasses he'd only just got a month ago, and for being a clumsy freak, were terrifying to him. He wasn't really clumsy, of course. Despite having a slightly awkward appearance with his knobbly knees and too-thin frame, he was surprisingly quick and had an innate agility. It had been his cousin, Dudley, who had broken them each time, taking a special delight in seeing the frames dangle from one ear after a punch in the nose broke the bridge neatly in two. This time, his aim had been a little higher, and his slightly-older but much larger cousin had given him a black eye and broken the glasses beyond what Harry could fix with cellotape.

The Dursleys, he knew, would not accept this excuse. For his entire life, as far as he could remember, they had doted on their own son, Dudley, and had treated him as something less than dirt. Even when his cousin's actions were obvious, they would not hear a word against their child and would blame him for everything that went wrong in their lives. He had learned early on not to protest this treatment. He had learned a lot of things. The rules of the Dursley house were taught once and ruthlessly enforced. Don't ask questions. Don't draw attention. Never blame Dudley. Do what we say when we say it, and be grateful for it. Not everyone would take in a worthless brat like him.

Brat. Boy. Freak. Him. Prior to entering school, Harry wasn't even aware he had a name. When the teacher had asked his name when the Dursleys brought him in, he'd stared at her blankly and was shocked when his Aunt identified him as "Harry Potter." He didn't ask her about it, mindful of the first rule, but filed it away as new information of his parents. Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, but he didn't know either her or his father's names as she never discussed them. The one and only thing he knew about them, as it was often thrown in his face by his relatives when he acted "ungrateful" was that his parents had been unemployed alcoholics and had died in a drunk driving incident, forcing him on the Dursleys. The same crash had given him his scar.

Calming down finally, Harry wiped his eyes, unconsciously worsening the grime by transferring the dust of his hands to his wet face, and surveyed his surroundings. Of all the places in the house, this was the only one he'd not visited. He was required to clean the entire house every day, the exception being his room...the cupboard under the stairs. He was "supervised" when he cleaned his aunt and uncle's and his cousin's room...but other than that he cleaned quite on his own. However, he had never been asked to clean the attic, hence it's current state of clutter and filth. Upon entering the room, he was only looking for a place to hide where no one would look for him, and given the fact no one ever went into the attic it had been the obvious choice, but now he was intrigued by the mysterious contents. In the corner, a large trunk caught his eye. It was shoved in the corner, out of the way, but somehow it drew his attention, in the same way the odd round frames in the eyeglass store had drawn him. He crawled through the dirt and edged his way slowly to the large trunk. The lid was heavy, but he managed to open it. The contents sent warm tingling down his spine, though they were mostly nondescript. Some type of black cloth, what looked like a large cooking pot, and a large amount of books dominated the trunk, but what drew his gaze the most was a worn letter that lay on the folded cloth.

His hand moved almost without the power of his conscious thought and picked up the letter, unfolding it gently. He was a fairly strong reader for a child his age, the result of only ever being given books to play with as Dudley never touched them, though he knew better than to do well in class as the first time he'd brought home a report card better than Dudley's had resulted in a series of nasty bruises on his ribs that had taken weeks to heal. Still, many of the words eluded his grasp. Despite this, the general content of the letter was very clear to Harry.

_To Petunia Evans Dursley and her family,_

_It is my sad duty to inform you that your sister, Lily, and her husband were murdered two nights ago, on Hallowe'en. As your sister may have informed you, the Potters were in hiding from a dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort. As far as we can surmise, the protections we placed to protect them were destroyed when Sirius Black, a friend of theirs and young Harry's godfather, betrayed them. Voldemort entered the Potter home and killed both James and Lily by means of the killing curse. Please, take comfort in the fact that the killing curse is instantaneous, your sister will not have felt any pain before she passed._

_It was then that Voldemort turned his wand on Harry to use the same curse. Rather than kill the child, however, the curse rebounded on the boy and turned upon its caster. While Voldemort is not dead, he has been forced to flee, horribly weakened. The wizarding world owes a great debt to young Harry for freeing our world, even temporarily, of such a dark shadow._

_Though it is hard to be certain why your nephew survived, it is my belief that his parents' sacrifice, especially the sacrifice of your sister, protected him. Love is a bond that is very difficult to break, Mrs. Dursley. Though they were a young couple, and he is but an infant, I don't believe any child was more loved than Harry Potter. Though they have moved on, I'm sure that their love will forever be evident in him, for love is the truest of all magic. I only wish that you show him that same love. He will need it when the time comes. I hope that you will take Harry in, as you are his last living relatives. The blood that you share with your sister, by virtue of her sacrifice, will protect Harry, and your family, from the wrath of Voldemort's remaining followers. As long as you offer Harry a home, this protection will exist for both him and your family. If he were to go elsewhere, it is likely that both of you will be attacked and killed by these followers in vengeance. _

_I would also like to make a request. I would prefer it if the exact circumstances of his parents death were not revealed to Harry. These events have rendered Harry famous amongst our kind, and were he to grow up aware of this, I fear that the idolization he will receive upon his return to our world will turn his head. For reasons that I can not enumerate here, I would prefer that Harry not develop such an undesirable personality trait as self-absorption._

_Please, take Harry in, for his sake as well as your own._

_My deepest condolences for your loss,_

_Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_

Harry read and re-read the letter, adjusting to the revelations it revealed, until the dust of the attic danced in moonlight instead of sunlight, his concentration broken, finally, at the angry call of his Aunt.

"Boy! Get down here NOW!"


End file.
